


Crimson Eleven Delight Petrichor

by it_was_like_slow_motion



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_was_like_slow_motion/pseuds/it_was_like_slow_motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A remake of the scene in "The Doctor's Wife" where there's a mental password - crimson, eleven, delight, petrichor. Done Mattex-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Eleven Delight Petrichor

_i. crimson_

She liked to leave lipstick on his skin. On his lips, on the slope of his stomach, on the nape of his neck – anywhere she could kiss, she left lipstick behind. It was quite amusing, when she did it in the right colors. Sometimes there were traces of purple on his wrists, or the lightest pink imprinted on the backs of his knees. His favorite of the times is when she left two marks behind. On the backs of his hands, she pressed two delicate kisses against the pale skin, dashes of color against the tendons, the bone.

They were breathtakingly crimson.

 

_ii. eleven_

He was number eleven, the eleventh Doctor; all through their relationship, the number seemed to cling to her, to them. They went on eleven dates before he kissed her. She thought that was absolutely absurd, of course, and insisted on kissing him eleven times before he finally pushed her on to his bed and properly worshipped her. On her daughter’s eleventh birthday, they were eleven days and eleven months into their relationship. Then, eleven days and eleven months later, he kissed her again, well and proper, and asked her to marry him.

She rather liked the number eleven.

 

_iii. delight_

She did not know how to express the feeling that exploded within her the day he asked her to marry him. It was golden and shining, exhilarating and so, so… _happy_. The way he looked back at her was just as indescribable, the same feeling shining through his burnt copper eyes. She folded into him, her head tucked underneath his chin, her fingers twined through his, the comforting warmth of his chest radiating through the thin cloth of her shirt and diffusing into her skin, filling her to the brim with more of that feeling.

It took her a little while to figure the feeling out, but listening to the beat of his heart, feeling the rhythm of his breath against her body, she solved it at last.

She was delighted.

 

_iv. petrichor_

It rained on the day they were married. Neither of them could bring themselves to mind. She came down the aisle in a stunning white dress that swung just below her knees, and at the other end, he was beaming at her, his bow tie snug under the color of his starched shirt. They were married, and walked down the aisle again, together. The rain had slowed to a drizzle when they emerged from the church, hand in hand. As one, they took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the humid air, the smell of the damp earth.

Their wedding day smelled like petrichor.

**Author's Note:**

> To make up for my failings as a Secret Santa. Not beta'd. :)


End file.
